The Witness To Your Fragmented Mind
by an-alternate-world
Summary: When he opens the door at 6am and sees someone he'd once cared for too much, he's not sure what to do. He doesn't know how to comfort someone who's falling apart in front of him - but he also knows he can't turn Connor away.


**Title:** The Witness To Your Fragmented Mind  
><strong>Author: <strong>an-alternate-world  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>CharactersPairing: **Connor Walsh/Oliver  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 3,484  
><strong>Summary: <strong>When he opens the door at 6am and sees someone he'd once cared for too much, he's not sure what to do. He doesn't know how to comfort someone who's falling apart in front of him - but he also knows he can't turn Connor away.  
><strong>WarningsSpoilers:** Spoilers for 1x04 and what takes place in that episode.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I am in no way associated with _How To Get Away With Murder_, ABC, Peter Nowalk, Shonda Rhimes, or anything else related to the ABC universe.

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><p>He wanted to pretend that the knock on his door was a figment of his imagination. His alarm wasn't due to go off for another forty-five minutes but he'd been lapsing in and out of consciousness for at least an hour. He'd had an uncharacteristic nightmare that had woken him sometime after four and hadn't really been able to get back to sleep since. The exact images had fallen away quicker than he could grasp them, but it had left him with an uncomfortable, uneasy sense of foreboding.<p>

When the knocking against his door turned into a rapid series of harsh, pounding thumps, he knew he had to get up just to spare himself from the probability of irate neighbours across the hall.

The discomfort in his belly grew with every step towards the door. He could hear footsteps pacing around outside and it made him stop and reassess opening the door. There were only a handful of people who knew where he lived and all of them were composed, calm professionals. The idea that anyone was wandering back and forth in a state of disquiet made him wonder if someone had gotten the wrong door.

When another knock occurred, quieter than the previous thuds, he sighed and relented to opening the door.

And paused.

And blinked.

And scanned up and down.

And exhaled.

It really _was_ Connor standing in the hallway.

Only it _wasn't_ the Connor he was familiar with.

This Connor, the one that paced back and forth, that heaved breaths and gave weak, humourless laughs, was thoroughly dishevelled and entirely unhinged. His eyes were blown dark with terror, his hair curling free of the neat confines Oliver was more familiar with, and his hoodie was a surprising wardrobe choice compared to Connor's tendency for suits and ties.

Connor's avoidance of his questions and the barely-contained hysteria as he paced back and forth made him suspect the younger man was high. He didn't know much about drugs but the rapid speech and jumpiness made him suspect something like ecstasy or cocaine, something that made Connor appear to be racing away in the small section of space he patrolled. His smile kept wobbling, his eyes kept darting everywhere, his hands kept waving around in grandiose but aborted gestures.

He could feel his defences rising as he became increasingly prepared to shut the door in Connor's face. Whatever Connor had taken or whatever Connor had done, he didn't want to get involved in it. He'd washed his hands of the male after hearing the audio recording, after Connor had confessed – awkwardly – to liking him a mammoth amount of time after Oliver had realised Connor just slept with whoever could get him the information he needed for a case. The feelings he'd thought had been growing between them, binding them together in some way, had collapsed when he'd heard that the guy that Connor had witnessed fall out of a window had been on the receiving end of Connor's fingers and tongue.

And yet, as he watched Connor fragment in front of him, he realised he couldn't shut the door in Connor's face. The more he paced, the more Oliver became aware of the stench of smoke that had begun to fill up the corridor and he began to suspect it was clinging and cloying to Connor's clothes. Asking the question of whether _was_ smoke earned him the most direct eye contact he'd had since opening the door.

It was almost like he visibly saw Connor shatter in front of him with the question.

"I screwed up so bad," Connor said, repeated, the pace of his breathing increasing to the point of hyperventilating as his words became more and more gasped and choked, his fingers twisting into his hair, his feet trampling back and forth along the corridor.

He didn't know how to handle seeing Connor like this. He didn't have much experience in dealing with such extreme levels of distress in anyone. The last time _he'd_ cried was after he'd thrown Connor out. The time he'd cried before that… He honestly couldn't remember.

The last time anyone had been this distraught in front of him was probably never.

But here Connor was, fragmenting into pieces on his doorstep, sliding down the wall and sobbing the same three words over and over. He watched in stunned disbelief as Connor's knees curled towards his chest, his gloved hand clutching at his hair, and he lowered to Connor's level because it felt awkward to loom over the other male. He watched, frowned, and reached out a hand to settle on Connor's trembling shoulder.

It wasn't hard to tell that Connor was hyperventilating. He almost seemed like he had hypothermia with how much he was shaking, like he was freezing cold and the only thing he could do was shiver and sob. This man was nothing like the man he'd had in his bed, that had confidently talked him into a corner in a way which was so charmingly dangerous that Oliver hadn't even realised he'd fallen under the spell until it was too late and his heart was broken. He'd spent nearly two months thinking that was how Connor operated, being suave and coy in a way that lured men towards him. Oliver had been played for a fool, but this time…

This time he could tell Connor wasn't acting.

He wasn't trying to fool Oliver.

He was genuinely freaking out.

"Hey."

He squeezed Connor's shoulder and wondered how he could interrupt the endless loop of words that spilled past Connor's lips. He squeezed again before reaching to cradle Connor's cheek and turn his head in an attempt to find his eyes.

"I screwed up," Connor gasped out again and Oliver almost felt like snapping at the other man because he'd already _heard_ that a few dozen times, but there was something in Connor's wild eyes, his wobbling lips, that made him realise whatever Connor was involved in was deep shit that had fractured his sanity into large shards.

"Let's get you inside," he decided, dragging Connor's protesting body inside his apartment before a neighbour walked past and wondered what the hell was going on. Connor was still chanting the same words, still hyperventilating, and Oliver was completely at a loss as to what to do.

"I screwed up so bad," Connor whimpered as he began coughing and Oliver reacted instinctively, ignoring his misgivings about letting Connor worm his way back inside his heart, and wrapped his arms around the other male tightly, fingers tangling among the hair at the nape of Connor's neck.

"I have you," he murmured against Connor's ear when he initially resisted the embrace. "I have you, Con."

He wasn't sure how long he stood there with a tense but trembling Connor in his arms, panting harsh breaths into his shoulder, before Connor's fingers finally curled into his t-shirt. Connor still stank of smoke, something like a woodsy bonfire but also something sickly that he couldn't place, and he knew when he had the chance he was going to bundle the man into the shower to scrub it from his skin.

For now though, he was forced to try holding the pieces of Connor together.

"I screwed up," Connor whispered, sniffling as he pressed his face into Oliver's neck and clutched at his shirt. He could feel the damp stickiness of tears against his skin, the short puffs of air as Connor continued with his struggle to breathe properly. "I screwed up, Ollie."

The broken way he said the nickname broke a part of the wall he'd put up after throwing Connor out. He couldn't deny Connor anything when he was like this. He breathed in deeply and made the decision to start cleaning Connor up and restoring him to something slightly more human.

"We'll talk about that later," he said calmly, loosening his hold to cup Connor's jaw and hold his gaze steady. Connor's eyes were still darting around wildly and he wondered if he really _was_ on something. Surely there was too much hysteria, too much fragmentation within his mind, to be purely based on something he'd done. "You stink."

Connor aimed to shrug but it really just looked like he was struggling to stand still, struggling to maintain the eye contact that Oliver was forcing upon him. He doubted whether it would even be possible to get a straight answer out of Connor right now.

"Come on."

He dropped his hands to grasp Connor's, tugging him in the direction of the bathroom. The smell was making him nauseous and he hoped that the shower would help wash away some of the fear of whatever Connor had done as well as the memories he couldn't seem to shake.

Connor managed to stay still as Oliver removed his gloves first then peeled his coat from his shoulders. He assisted in the removal of his hoodie over his head and then allowed Oliver to unpick the buttons to expose the smooth, broad expanse of his chest. There weren't any marks on him, nothing that indicated Connor had gotten into a fight and somehow killed a man.

And yet…

His fingers fumbled a little with Connor's belt, the button and zip of his fly, as the other male toed off his shoes and allowed his pants to pool at his feet. He tried not to look at Connor's body, tried to pretend that he was unaffected and his actions were clinical, his intention to help Connor calm down, but it was difficult to avert his eyes when Connor peeled off his socks and then pushed down his boxer-briefs and stood more naked, more vulnerable, than Oliver had ever seen him.

Connor was still shaking when Oliver stepped past him to twist the shower knobs and water began to cascade in a steady stream. He left the glass door open and turned back to Connor standing like a lost little boy with his hands knotted in front of him.

"I'll just leave you to-"

"Don't leave," Connor said quickly, his hand lashing out to wrap tightly around Oliver's wrist. Almost painfully tight. "Don't l-leave me."

"Con, I-"

"Ollie, p-_please_," Connor begged and Oliver's resolve faltered because Connor's eyes were so wide and so dark with fear and he knew there was no way he could refuse. He wondered if he should have slammed the door in Connor's face and refused to ever get involved in whatever this was, but instead he'd allowed himself to get trapped all over again by a man far more persuasive than Oliver would ever be.

He sighed and peeled off his t-shirt and sweatpants and tried not to think about how Connor was probably eyeing every inch of his exposed body. He pulled Connor with him under the shower spray, drawing him close for another hug as the water trailed through their hair and slid down their bodies. He made sure Connor was getting the majority of the water, fully determined to rid his skin of the scent of smoke, but it was a moment of quiet broken only by the hiss and splatter of the water.

"I'm s-so sorry, Oliver," Connor murmured into his ear, his fingers dragging over the muscles of Oliver's sides and back as he wrapped his arms around Oliver's body. It was too easy to fall under the spell again, to be lured into something he'd already played with. He didn't plan on getting burned again.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said, aiming to be as detached as possible as he slipped free and reached for his bottle of liquid soap. The sooner he got Connor washed and dressed, the sooner he wouldn't be distracted by his slippery, naked body.

"It d-does," Connor said, his eyes lowering and his head falling as Oliver began rubbing his hands over his skin, working the soap into a lather before the water could wash it all away. The sweet smell of apricot soap began to take away some of the burnt wood scent that permeated the air.

"Let it go, Con," he said, turning away so he didn't have to see Connor curving a hand against his groin as he washed himself. Being naked and in the shower with a distressed Connor after nearly two months of avoiding contact was not how he'd envisaged his morning going when he'd crawled into bed last night.

"_Ollie_."

Connor's hands pressed into his back, his body sliding in close behind him, his lips touching a spot on the side of his neck. He didn't want to react, didn't want to think about how it had been a couple of months – since the time he'd let Connor get a couple of beers and played the audio on his phone to understand why he was so angry at some random guy's death – but he could feel his muscles twitch, his neck and shoulder tilting to grant Connor greater access to mouthing at his skin. His hands flattened against the glass wall in front of him, steam spreading half an inch from where his flesh was.

"I've m-missed you," Connor confessed, so quiet that it was almost lost over the rushing water but Oliver heard it and shut his eyes, struggling with the urge to push Connor away and draw him closer, to avoid helping him at the same time as he desperately wanted to offer comfort.

Connor hands on his waist turned him and he looked at Connor, _really_ looked, and saw the frightened skittishness that still lurked beneath the surface of his expression. His hair was drenched against his scalp, his skin glistening, and he chided himself for his weakness when Connor leaned forward to kiss him and he didn't push the other male away.

Instead his fingers betrayed him by curling against Connor's arms, his eyes falling shut as the familiarity of kissing Connor awakened within him. Connor knew how to make him weak at the knees with a swipe of his tongue, how to make him moan with a well-placed thumb digging into his hip, how to coax his body into doing exactly what his head kept telling him not to allow. His eyes were half-closed when Connor kissed and nipped at his neck, his collarbone, his chest, dropping to his knees with something uncertain lurking in his eyes.

He had to look down, had to watch the way the water trickled through Connor's hair and poured down the curve of his back, and it was while he was looking down that Connor looked up and a flash of the old Connor, the one that smirked so easily and had charmingly dangerous eyes, was seen for a moment before it disappeared.

He sank into the glass wall of his shower with a moan when Connor closed his lips around his length, the steady pace of his head bobbing against him and the teasing flicks of his tongue encouraging him to full hardness. His fingers clutched at Connor's hair and shoulders, guiding the male's movements while also giving him some degree of control as he thrust shallowly into Connor's mouth. There was still an overwhelming sense of sadness at how it had all ended and worry about why Connor had shown up on his doorstep but Connor's persistence led to him coming apart against his better judgement with a groan that echoed around the glass and tiles of the bathroom.

He'd expected Connor to rise after he'd finished licking him clean but instead he'd stayed on his knees and pointed at the shampoo. Dumbfounded, hesitant, still lost as to what he was meant to be doing, he scraped shampoo through Connor's hair, massaging it deep into his scalp in an attempt to rid him of the smoky smell, and carded his fingers through the damp strands to rinse it free. Connor's eyes had closed at some point, his shaking shoulders stilling and allowing Oliver to rub conditioner into his hair before he rinsed that out too.

When he was done, Connor unsteadily stood again and pressed him against the glass to kiss him. It was as passionate as any they'd shared months ago but also different, tinged with a bitter sadness that tasted sour on his tongue. It was obvious Connor was soft and something about his lack of arousal was another red flag, another warning bell, another flashing light.

Oliver didn't bother asking if Connor wanted to get off. He suspected there was still too much running through that fragmented mind to think about an orgasm.

It was an odd pattern of lazy kisses and lingering touches in the shower as Connor's panic slowed and he began to relax into Oliver's arms. Oliver wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not that Connor had once again used sex to distract himself from what he was feeling but he didn't know enough about the situation to adequately judge whether he'd screwed up by not pushing Connor away.

He shut off the water when Connor's eyes were drooping and his kisses had grown sloppy with fatigue, stepping out of the shower and ensuring the largest, fluffiest towel he had was firmly secured around the other man's shoulders before he dried himself. He only pulled on his briefs and then dragged the towel over Connor's body. He led him from the bathroom to put on a pair of own boxers from his drawer. He'd wash Connor's clothes later.

Connor slid easily into the bed and Oliver watched him for a moment, how easily he was able to fit back into Oliver's life after a couple of months of absence, before he picked up his phone and called into the office. There was no way he could leave Connor like this _or_ kick him out to deal with whatever demons he wasn't really dealing with. He'd just have to fake sick for the day and deal with the consequences later if he was caught out.

"Oliver," Connor whispered, reaching for him once he returned to the bedroom. He tucked the blankets around Connor's body before allowing a brief kiss, slinging an arm over the dip in Connor's waist. If he'd been high on drugs, they appeared to be wearing off. Connor still wasn't _normal_ but he wasn't as panic-stricken as before.

"What happened, Con?" he said, smoothing his fingers over the lines of Connor's back, feeling Connor's slightly uneven breathing tickling his skin. Connor seemed so much smaller like this, more like a boy than a man. There was nothing confident or cocky about him.

"I can't tell you," Connor mumbled, his damp hair pressing against Oliver's neck. "You can't be an accessory."

Oliver frowned, knowing he'd heard that before – except Connor hadn't been nearly as upset before when he'd gotten an audio recording from a guy he'd just fucked. "Connor…"

"No, I- I can't," Connor repeated and Oliver could feel the faint tremble in his fingers. "Please, Ollie. Please don't ask me to tell you."

He sighed, brushing a soft kiss to Connor's temple and knowing he couldn't force answers to be spoken. "Have you slept?"

"No, we had to-" Connor fell silent abruptly, his head shaking mildly. Oliver wondered if the 'we' were the other people Connor worked for, if somehow they were all involved in something dangerous or damaging. Maybe Connor was right. Maybe he shouldn't ask because maybe he didn't want to know. "No."

"Then sleep," Oliver said firmly, adjusting the blankets to more thoroughly wrap around Connor's form with the intention of trying to protect him from himself. "I'll be here when you wake up."

When he looked down, Connor's forehead was wrinkled but his eyes were closed and he wondered what the thoughts were. He wondered if Connor doubted that he would be taken care of. He wondered if Connor was still thinking about whatever had happened. He figured Connor wouldn't give him a satisfactory answer so he didn't bother asking.

"I'll keep you safe," he offered and Connor released an unsteady breath and cuddled closer. As much as Oliver wanted to resist it, as much as he wanted to have nothing to do with Connor wrecking his heart again, the male had been his weakness months ago and remained a futile flaw for him now.

He carefully counted his breaths to keep them even in the hopes it would be comforting to Connor to hear and feel and at some point, he felt Connor's weight shift and increase. When he looked down, the crinkled lines of his forehead had smoothed away and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed, slow and deep.

"What have you gotten yourself mixed up in?" he whispered against Connor's hair as he stared down at his strangely peaceful face after the terrified panic of earlier. "What have you done?"

Part of him hoped he never had to find out.

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><p><em><strong>~FIN~<strong>_


End file.
